"Doesn't matter. His lion knows." Jason sits back, giving me space. "Also, your roommate slapped him."
The subject change gives me whiplash. "What?"
"Robin. He came to the bar after he dropped you off this morning. Stormed in, screamed at Knox, slapped him across the face hard enough that we all heard it." Jason's mouth twitches. "Knox just stood there and took it. Didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't defend himself."
I can picture it perfectly—Robin in full protective rage mode, all five-foot-nine of him squaring up against a lion shifter twice his size. "Good."
"Knox could have killed him with one swipe. Could have broken Robin's hand just by tensing his jaw. But he didn't. Because Robin was protecting you, and Knox respects that." Jason holds my gaze. "Because you matter. Because hurting someone you love would be hurting you, and Knox would ratherlet a human slap him in front of his whole pride than do anything that might hurt you."
We sit in silence for a moment. On screen, Maui is singing about how great he is, how many things he's done, how everyone loves him.
"I need time," I finally say. The words feel heavy in my mouth. "Even if... even if what you're saying is true, I need time to process. I can't just—I can't go from 'I'm nothing special' to 'I'm his forever mate' in the span of one conversation."
"Okay." Jason nods. "That's fair."
"And space. I don't want to see him right now. I don't know if I can—" My voice cracks. I swallow hard. "I don't know if I can look at him without either screaming or crying, and I've done enough crying today."
"I'll tell him."
"And tell him—" I stop. Touch the bite mark on my shoulder through my shirt. It still aches, deeper than the other marks. The one Knox said would scar. "Tell him the marks are fading."
Jason's eyes widen slightly. "Is that a message?"
"He'll know what it means."
The marks are fading. The bruises on my neck, the finger-shaped shadows on my hips, the scratches on my back—they're all yellowing, softening, disappearing. In a few more days there will be no evidence that Knox ever touched me.
Except for this one. The bite on my shoulder. The one that might be permanent.
Jason stands. Hesitates. "For what it's worth, Toby, I've known Knox for ten years. Watched him go through phases, watched him hook up with more people than I can count, watched him keep everyone at arm's length because that's safer than letting anyone in. I've never seen him like this about anyone. Ever." He shoves his hands back in his pockets. "You'renot just another hookup. You're not a novelty or an experiment or an itch to scratch. You're it for him. The one. And I know that's terrifying, but it's also true."
I don't say anything. Can't.
"Jason?" I manage finally.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for coming. For explaining." I swallow. "But I still need you to leave."
He nods, no hurt in his expression, just understanding. He heads for the door, then pauses with his hand on the knob.
"We really do like you, you know. The whole pride. Not just because Knox claimed you—because you fit. Because you showed up with thank-you tarts and made us laugh and didn't treat us like we were scary." He opens the door. "Whatever happens with Knox, you're welcome at the bar. Okay?"
Then he's gone, and I'm alone with Disney and my melting ice cream and the mess of my own thoughts.
I pull the blanket up to my chin and stare at the TV without seeing it.
The marks are fading. In a few days, maybe a week, they'll all be gone. The bruises, the scratches, the hickeys—every visible sign that Knox ever called me his. My skin will be blank again. Unmarked. Like none of it ever happened.
I touch the bite on my shoulder. Press against it until it aches.
This one might scar, Knox had said. Permanent. Mine.
At the time, I'd shivered with want. Now I don't know what I feel. The scar will be a reminder, either way. Either a reminder of the best night of my life, or a reminder of how stupid I was to think it meant something.
Or maybe both.
Maybe it can be both.
